


Fruit

by rockit_lockit_writer



Category: Abrahamic Religions, Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Crowley's Name is Crawly | Crawley (Good Omens), I like to think Crowley is a bit of a derpy snake, If you squint maybe?, Scene: Garden of Eden (Good Omens), Snake Crowley (Good Omens), The Garden of Eden, Well - Freeform, at least in the beginning, non-binary Aziraphale, non-binary Crowley, or is it The Beginning?, well here it is
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-29
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-01-08 00:03:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,288
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21226475
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rockit_lockit_writer/pseuds/rockit_lockit_writer
Summary: What happens when a snake takes a stroll through the garden of Eden?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, this was originally on my tumblr account as a fun writing post and it wasn't until, well, ages after I wrote it, that I realized it could be sort of fic of what happened before Good Omens.   
(If the formatting is off, could you please let me know? This is my first work here so I'm still figuring out how to post properly)

The tongue tasted fruit, sweet and ripe. The smell of sweat hung in the air, amidst the perfume of flowers and summer and rain. It hadn’t rained yet, though the clouds rolled overhead lazily and oh so slowly. There was time enough. The trees were tall, providing ample shade from the sticky heat, and proud of their job, despite being only a few weeks old. The grass was cool as the snake slid through, a canopy of blades crossing the curtain of leaves, only allowing the barest hints of sunlight to hit smooth scales. The snake flicked its tongue again, looking for someplace warm.

_That is a tree_, the snake reminded itself. _And that is a bush_. It turned its head, curiously. _And that is a--_ What was it called? The snake couldn’t recall. It knew it was a snake, of course, but it didn’t know the name of this other thing, though it lingered on the tip of its tongue. Animals had names, but they didn’t have _names_. Not like the ones that tended the garden. The snake strolled up to one of them, laying reasonably flat against the ground, green grass tickling their sides in the light breeze.

“Which one are you?” The snake asked, sitting down beside them.

“Eve,” they said amicably, not bothering to move their eyes from the sky.

“Oh.” said the snake, now knowing that this is what God called woman. “That’s a nice name.” Then the snake paused, realizing how rude it’d been and aimed to correct it. “Hello.”

“Hello.” Eve blinked lazily.

“Lovely weather we’re having.”

“I suppose.” The woman said. “Not much different than yesterday.”

“No.” Said the snake. “I don’t suppose it is.” There was a pause. “It will be though. When the storm comes.”

“What’s a storm?”

The snake flicked its tail. “No idea,” it said. “But I can feel it. It’s coming.” They sat in companionable silence, staring up at the wisps of clouds breaking through the bright blue of the sky. Then the snake said, “Where’s Adam?”

Eve shrugged. “By the hydrangea bushes, last time I checked.” She stretched, one arm propped behind her head. “He wanted to ask God about colors.” The snake yawned and settled in comfortably, curling against her side.

“Does God teach you much?”

“Adam more than me,” Eve admitted. “I think he’s the favorite.”

“He is older than you, isn’t he?” The snake pondered. “Do you suppose that’s why God talks to him more?”

“I’d be doing an awful lot of supposing in one day if I did.” Eve huffed. “It’s more like God teaches Adam, then Adam teaches me.” The snake flicked a tongue out, curious.

“What things do you learn?”

“I’ve learned that I am woman and Adam is man.” Eve answered, one hand shifting to stroke the snake’s side absently. “Is that alright?” She asked, withdrawing as the snake stilled.

“Yes.” The snake said, soaking up the warmth of her touch. It didn’t much like how cold the air was getting with this ‘storm’. “Continue.”

“I have learned that the white things are clouds and beyond that is the sky,” Eve continued. “I have learned the names of the animals. You are a snake. I am a human. I have learned the names of fruit I can eat, and that which I cannot.” “There are those you cannot eat?” The snake cocked its head, uncoiling itself. Idly, it wondered if it should change its name...

But it had bigger things to worry about.

“But you are the gardeners, yes? I thought nothing was unavailable to you.”

Eve stood, suppressing a yawn. “There are some.” Then she said, “I’m hungry, would you care for something to eat?”

“Sure.” The snake said. “Could you carry me though? It’s warmer up high.” Eve lifted the snake to her shoulders, letting it curl around her torso as it pleased. “Thanks.” The snake said. And they set off.

“What would you like?” Eve asked. “Do you like blueberries? I had blueberries for the first time yesterday, I rather like them. What about strawberries? Or mangos? Or--ooh, have you tried lemons yet? They make your face do funny things--”

The snake slid into the branches and looked around, examining each fruit with a critical eye, tasting as it went. Eve laughed when it tried a lemon, the fruit almost the same color and shape and the snake’s eyes. After a lick, the snake hissed delighted.

“It is sour!” It exclaimed. “Just like me!”

“Your venom, you mean.” Eve corrected.

“How do you know what venom is?” The snake asked, licking the fruit again, nibbling at it as best it could. This was a fruit to be savored.

“Adam told me.” Eve said. “He accidentally startled something called a platypus the other day while it was napping. The platypus apologized, and later God explained what it was that made his hand swell up so much.”

“Huh.” The snake licked the lemon again, then turned away, bored. It wanted more fruit.

“What’s that?” It nodded towards a round, green mass.

“A watermelon.”

“And those?”

“Raspberries.”

“What about that hairy one?” The snake asked. “The one that looks kind of like a monkey.”

“Coconut,” Eve recalled. “It had the most wonderful sweet juice in the middle, almost like water.” The snake flicked its tongue in acknowledgment.

“And you can eat all of these?” The snake asked, impressed. It hadn’t even tried half of them yet. “Which ones are the ones you can’t eat?”

“The tree in the middle of the garden. The one Adam said is called…” Eve scrunched her nose up, thinking. “The Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. I think.”

“What’s the one next to it?”

“The Tree of Life.” Eve said, relieved at how much less of a mouthful this one was.

The snake curled down loosely, peering at the tree as they approached. “What’s the difference?” The snake asked, swinging back up to nestle in the branches.

“I don’t know.” Eve shrugged. “All I know is that Adam said that if we touched the fruit, we would die.”

“That can’t be right.” The snake’s mouth turned down, in something that was almost a frown. “I just bumped this one.”

"What?” Eve cried, jumping back in horror.

“Watch.” The snake turned and prodded the fruit with its nose. “See?” The fruit wobbled, stem twisting. Then it fell, landing right at Eve’s feet. Eve stared at the fruit, then at the snake, amazement lighting her features.

“You aren’t dead.”

“Well,” said the snake, dropping down to the ground. “I would have thought that was obvious.”

“You aren’t dead.” Eve repeated. The snake didn't seem to hear.

“Do you think I should eat it?” The snake asked, circling the fruit, oddly fascinated by what was happening around it. “Do you think I’d die then?” Then it paused. “What is death, anyway?”

“I don’t know,” said Eve, backing away. “But I really don’t want to find out.”

“Suit yourself.” The snake called after her. “I’ll let you know if I’ve died or not later on.” Eve said nothing, a strange apprehension twisting her stomach. She tried to put it out of her mind, unconcerned. Nothing bad would happen. The snake had been able to touch the fruit, though surely it wouldn't be so brash as to actually eat it when God said not to. 

Right?

“Good news, Eve,” The snake called as it slithered through the garden. “I’m not dead.”

“Good to know,” Eve said, drowsily. She had eaten some of every other fruit, then took a nap, quickly bored with waiting for the serpent to return. She turned on her side, getting a full view of a very proud snake. “Why is there a lump in your stomach?”

“That’s the fruit, silly.” The snake giggled, swaying. The fruit had been rather heavy when it first swallowed it, forcing the poor snake to crawl down the tree once it had gotten stuck. _Crawly..._ the snake mused. _Has a bit of a ring to it..._

Eve blanched, bolting upright. “YOU ACTUALLY ATE IT?!” 

“Yup.” The snake --Crawly-- said. “Quite the interesting feeling, I must say.”

“Why is it just...sitting there?” Eve poked at the lump. The snake’s head turned, following her gaze.

“It takes me longer to digest food than you, I think. Probably why I feel so loopy since this fruit is forbidden and all.”

“Huh,” Eve said, her hand falling. “Well, you learn something new every day.”

“In your case, that’s quite literal.” Said Crawly, flicking its--their?-- tongue out. “But I know what you mean. I feel like this fruit is actually living up to its name.”

“What?” Eve asked.

“You said this one was the Tree of Knowledge of God and Weasels?”

“Good and Evil.” Eve corrected.

The snake shrugged. “Well, now I know what weasels are.” Crawly said. “I mean, I knew before, but they were really kind of vague, you know?”

“No,” said Eve. “I don’t.” She paused, then, against her better judgment, asked, “Then do you know what Good and Evil are?”

“I think so.” They said. “It’s just--It’s hard to explain.” Eve sighed, her eyes closing. The sun was warm.

“Can you try?”

“I can.” Crawly admitted. “But it would be easier to show you.”

“Show me?” Eve mumbled sleepily, wanting nothing more than return to her midday nap.

“By eating the fruit.”

“You want me to what?!” Eve hissed, all idea of sleep now forgotten.

The snake twisted around, amused. “Eat the fruit.”

“Didn’t you hear what I said earlier?” Eve asked. “If I eat the fruit, I’ll die.”

“I ate the fruit. I didn’t die.”

“Yes, well…” Eve followed as Crawly moved, winding a trail back to the tree, fruit bright against green leaves in the noontime sun. “You said you haven’t digested it yet.” Warm earth bent under her toes, leaving an imprint of Eve’s foot with each step.

“I feel like…” Crawly said slowly, creeping up the trunk. “I feel like I can see better somehow. Like...this fruit is good for the eyes.”

“Like carrots?”

“Not quite.” The snake shook their head. “Like I said, it’s hard to explain.”

“Does Adam know Good from Evil?” Eve asked, suddenly wondering. “Since God teaches him many things?”

“I don’t know.” Crawly said. “I doubt it. He hasn’t eaten the fruit, has he?”

“I think you’d notice if he did.” Eve’s fingers curled, fiddling with her hair. “And he’d teach me then, wouldn’t he? I mean, Adam teaches me everything.”

“I really couldn’t say.” Crawly shrugged. “I don’t know him that well.”

“Oh.” Eve was silent for a moment. “So...if I ate the fruit, I could teach Adam something, for once.”

“Yes. If you want to put it that way.” The snake draped down, looping around, propping itself up on her shoulders. Eve reached for the fruit, then stopped. “I shouldn’t…”

“Then don’t.” Crawly said comfortably. They sat in silence for a moment, making no move to move from the tree. “I have a question, Eve…” the snake murmured, tickling her hair.

“Shouldn’t you have an answer? I mean, If you ate the fruit and all.”

“Do you think... “ Crawly hesitated. “Maybe…” it trailed off into mumbles, then straightened.

“What?” Eve asked, suspicious.

“What did God say once you were created?”

“That we were permitted to name everything,” Eve said. “Adam named most things, though I suggested the name aardvark in place of his choice of anteater.”

“What else?”

“Well, God said we were allowed to eat what we wished, and we have eaten almost everything here at least once,” Eve remembered the journey through the garden, learning the names of the various fruits and passing them on to the creature before her. “I think we’ve listened rather well so far to our instruction. Well,” she said, thinking back on what God had told them. “So far.”

“And God said be fruitful did they not?” The snake chuckled.

“Yes,” said Eve. “And multiply, though I know not what that means.” Crawly choked.

“Ah, well,” if snakes could blush, this one would have. “One step at a time.”

“What do you suggest?” Eve asked. The snake would know, wouldn’t it? It had eaten the fruit, after all. “How do we follow God’s word?”

“I suggest nothing, Eve.” Crawly said, not willing to overstep their place, even with the fruit of knowledge sitting rather comfortably in their belly. Crawly had been told to make trouble, yet no one specified how. They couldn't tell woman what to do even if they wanted to. Free will had to be _free_, after all. 

Besides, this was much more fun. 

“You must decide for yourself. Just think on what you have been taught.”

Eve thought. “I think,” Eve said, beginning to think that she had honestly not used that phrase as often as she should. “I think that to be fruitful, one must eat fruit.”

“That,” said Crawly. “Seems very wise.”

“And to be truly fruitful,” Eve said. “Is to eat all fruit.” She stood on her toes, reaching for the one she wanted. “Do you think this one is good?”

“Oh, yes.” Crawly replied, the taste on the tip of their tongue. “Good for the eyes.”

“I meant ripe.”

“Are you going to eat it now?” The snake asked, curling around her shoulders.

“No.” Eve shook her head. “I think I’ll wait a little longer.”

“You’ll lose your nerve.” Crawly slid to the ground, flicking their tongue in amusement.

Knowledge had made them insatiable. They wanted to find a weasel.

“No.” Said Eve. “I won’t.”

Eve palmed the fruit in her hand, staring at it. Almost gently, she washed the fruit in the lake. Then, with a moment's hesitation, fingers dripping, she brought it to her mouth. With the first bite, Eve’s lips tingled. At the end she was gasping. Then Eve’s knees gave way, sending her toppling--careening--falling into the lake. Water seeped beneath her skin, cracking at the clay, washing away her mind. For a while, Eve floated, embracing the coolness that the lake offered, the emptiness it brought, the silence and the shimmering. All this was before. Eve broke the surface, and for the first time, she saw. Thoughts rushed into her head, ideas, names, knowledge. Knowledge. Of Good. And Evil. Eve blinked slowly, then wiped the water from her eyes. The sun was beginning to set now, the sky stained with colors Eve had not yet learned.

“Adam must be done learning by now,” Eve said aloud, wringing her hair out into the dirt. “I think I’ll go find him.” Eve found Adam where she had left him, amongst the flowers, bright and blooming, all reaching up, asking to be noticed. “Hello.”

“Hello.” Adam said. He blinked. “Eve? Why are you wet?”

“Oh,” Eve looked down at her feet, dripping droplets gathering beneath her toes. “I went for a swim.” Her chest tightened. She had yet to realize she had lied, as she had not yet learned what a lie was.

“Really?” Adam asked mildly. “I didn’t know you liked to swim.”

Knowledge. Her chest tightened again.

“Ah, well.” Eve tugged at her hair. “I fell in, really. Swam a bit after.”

“Makes sense.” Adam nodded. “Would you like to get some dinner with me?”

Eve smiled, relaxed once more. “Of course.”

They walked for a while, plucking fruit from branches and tasting, having their fill of the earth with ease. Yet for Eve, none held the same allure as before. She felt listless, yearning for something she had yet to understand. 

_Knowledge_, the breeze whispered and Eve suppressed a shiver, the wind colder than she ever remembered it being. 

“Adam?”

“Mhm?” He bit into a pear.

“Teach me the colors?”

So Eve learned of blue, the color of the sky. She learned of green, the shades that made up the grass and the pear in Adam’s hand. She learned of red--cherries-- mixing with yellow--daisies-- to create orange, sharing the name of the fruit and the color of sunset. They went on, walking, talking, and learning. 

_Knowledge._

“Adam…” Eve interrupted, her hands twisting together, her heart fluttering at the thought of her next question. “Would you like me to teach you something?”

“Teach me something?” Adam echoed, confused. “What?”

“You know many things, Adam.” She said. “You taught me of the lights in the sky. You taught me of the plants of the Earth. You taught me the names of animals, and a reverence for God.”

“Yes.” Adam said. “And I have taught you much more.”

“I’d like to return the favor.” Eve touched his shoulder. “If you’ll let me.” Adam smiled, his teeth lighting her world in a flash before his lips covered them once more.

“What would you like to teach me?” He asked, wandering between the trees, thick with leaves and forming flower of fruit. A snake lay within the branches, half asleep.

“Knowledge.” Eve said, plucking a fruit with slender fingers. She spotted the snake and gave it a small smile. “Of Good and Evil.” Placing the fruit in Adam’s palm, Eve closed his fingers around the skin, her hand resting on his a moment longer, warm and waiting.

“Eve?” Adam asked, turning the fruit around, examining it. “What is this?” His features were dull, yet bright, ignorant, yet fearful. He looked at her, wondering what it was that made her so different now, what it was he could not see.

“Eat,” Eve said gently. “It’s good for your eyes.”

And Adam ate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We've seen a certain snake journey through the garden, now what of a certain angel?

Clouds rolled overhead, light mixing with dark. They were just now reaching the edge of the garden, slowly crossing the stone wall where a certain angel was waiting for something interesting to happen.

The angel looked up, hopeful. After a minute, they looked left, then right, then sighed, tired of waiting. The air was growing heavy—thick with a thing not yet experienced on earth. But the rain held its peace for now.

The angel had yet to meet the denizens of the garden, as they’d been stuck on guard duty for the past—well—they didn’t actually know how long. The angel frowned, counting the days on their fingers. It was more than seven of course, though really, what the purpose of numbering them all was meant to do rather than having each night roll lazily into the next day was beyond them.

The angel began to pace, fingers flicking into a pattern, fidgeting. They were so tired of sitting still.

They weren’t bored exactly, they were just…

They were bored.

It’d be different if there was someone else to talk to, the angel supposed. That was why God created woman, right? So man wouldn’t feel lonely. Humans needed companionship it seemed.

A strange feeling had settled in the angel’s chest at this realization. The feeling was easy to ignore most days but on others—those days they could hear the humans laughing,

it brought forth old memories. Flitting through the air and chasing other angels in a similar manner seemed so long ago...

The angel tugged at their curls, briefly annoyed. Why they were alone was beyond them. Why they were even here, at the edge of Paradise rather than in Heaven with everyone else—

The angel sat at the edge of the wall, tired of pacing. Heels pummeled the stone, legs swinging against the sturdy side. There was nothing to explore away from the wall—at least, nothing the angel could see. It was all sand, and from their last experience trying to get all the sand out of their wings, they’d rather take their chances elsewhere.

But…there was no elsewhere.

The angel sighed again. Resting one cheek in their hand, they looked rather depressed. Then, an idea struck, and the angel stood, making their decision.

They were going to enter the garden.

Getting inside wasn’t difficult. Just a hop, a skip and a flutter and the world changed from drab to dazzling.

The angel blinked. They weren’t sure what they were expecting, but what greeted them—

Their mouth went dry.

The angel twitched, inhaling the sweet scent. A few small bees buzzed nearby, flitting between honeysuckle flowers and sticky fruit vines. Where before there had been only silence to keep them company, now they could hear water—a brook, the angel assumed, no, a river, being tended to by a mother bear and her cub. The mother looked up and caught the angel’s gaze. The angel averted their eyes, blush high on freckled cheeks. The bear gave a huff of amusement, then turned away, her small cub following close behind.

The angel continued to look around.

Hummingbirds flew faster than the bees and took great pleasure in examining the angel’s own wings, which were much larger than theirs, though rather less colorful. Acting as the angel’s guide, they pulled them in this direction, then that, very easily distracted and very easily forgetting about their new companion when entering the nearest grove.

Not that the angel could blame them.

They stared at the trees around them in wonder, particularly taken with the ones decorated in shining colors. _This must be fruit_, the angel thought. A novel thing.

They were food, the angel knew, though they had never had any need for food before themself.

Wind rustled the branches, making the fruit dance before their eyes, begging curiosity to take hold.

What did fruit taste like?

A noise broke their train of thought, and the angel jumped in fright.

Their stomach growled again. This time the angel turned a red comparable with the apples they were staring at. They looked away.

“Stupid, Aziraphale, stupid.” The angel scolded themself, forgetting in their line of questioning that they weren’t supposed to have a name. Nothing had a name until God gave them one, and well, God was terribly busy after all. They glared at the fruit in front of them, looking from tree to tree in turn, as the sunlight lit the meadow made each stand out in turn.

They were mocking them.

It was just before the rain that the angel decided to give into temptation.

Perhaps one fruit wouldn’t hurt….

A trail of cores followed the angel, marking the path they had taken through the garden, sampling a little of everything. At first, they were unsure and tried to eat everything the fruit had to offer. Then, after picking one seed too many out of their teeth, they decided to be more select. Blueberries were delicious, dragon fruit strange, but pleasant, and strawberries _scrumptious_.

Animals followed their footsteps, scattering whenever the angel looked back. Aziraphale was amused at how they took what was left behind.

Absently, the angel reached for another fruit, not paying much attention to anything else. If they had been, they might have seen a rather large, and rather unusual snake asleep within the tree’s branches. As it was, the angel simply twisted the stem, content to hear it snap, and continue on.

Sitting by the lake as sunset fell, they decided to make the most of it before returning to their so very boring post.

This fruit was sure to be sour. The angel examined it, turning it over and delighting in their growing ability to wonder. Or—no, perhaps it would have a touch of sweetness, right at the end? Would it be light or deep in flavor, like the vibrancy of a lime or the earthiness of a pear?

There was only one way to find out.

Their lips tingled as the fruit hit their tongue. “Hm.” Aziraphale said, chewing. “Definitely not what I expected.”

The world seemed to upend itself, just for a moment, before the angel blinked, and things returned to normal.

Despite the…strangeness that had occurred, the angel shrugged, and ate the rest of the fruit. They licked their fingers, strangely sad to have finished. They’d even eaten the core this time, the center as soft as the rest, with no pit or seed in sight.

Even stranger.

The squirrels behind them looked almost heartbroken without a treat to take back to their nests. The angel gave a soft laugh, surprising even themself at the motion.

“Go on, now, you’ve got enough fruit stored away. Besides, it’s not like the trees are going away anytime soon, are they?”

The squirrels chittered back at him, a disgruntled acknowledgment, before they took off, bounding quickly back to their homes now that the angel had nothing to offer them.

“I see you’re making friends,” came an amused voice from beside them. Their head shot up in response, recognizing that voice from the moment of creation itself.

“Lord!” The angel rushed to stand, finding themselves rather awkwardly in a half kneel, half bow.

“You needn’t trouble yourself, fledgling.”

Aziraphale wanted to correct Them, that they hadn’t been a fledgling for a while now, but thought better of it. This was God, after all.

It was as if the Lord knew his thoughts. They seemed even more amused than before. “No matter your age, dear, you’re all fledglings to me.”

Aziraphale blushed, ears even pinking rapidly at the consideration.

God smiled at them. “Walk with me.”

If the garden was wonderful before, it simply shone within the Lord’s presence. Everything from the trees to the wind moved around Them, dancing and bowing in her wake. One particular flower was bowing a little lower than the rest. God lifted the flower up, and it burst into colorful confidence immediately.

The Lord turned to the angel with a content hum. “You must be full of questions, dear. What is God doing here you might ask? Doesn’t She have more important things to do?”

“She?”

Aziraphale could have kicked themself.

God shrugged, lightly, Her smile never wavering. “I’m using pronouns today.”

Aziraphale nodded, gears turning in their mind. Perhaps they would experiment with pronouns as well one day.

Whatever those were.

“Ask me anything you wish.” The Lord said to them. “No question out of bounds.”

Aziraphale nodded, a bit uncertain.

What sort of questions did one typically ask the Creator of the Universe?

“Er—“ At the Lord’s waiting expression, they blurted. “CouldIreceiveanamepleaseLord?”

Now it seemed to be Her turn to be surprised.

“You didn’t get a name?”

“There were so many fledglings running about,” the angel tried to console Her. “I’m sure I wasn’t the only one lost in the shuffle.”

That didn’t seem to help matters. The Lord did not look pleased.

“I was so wrapped up in this new creation that—I can’t believe—” God huffed, pulling at the front of Her hair. _Bangs_, the angel blinked, wondering where the thought had come from. “Michael was supposed to take care of you all until I was done.” God said with a sigh of frustration, fingers running through her bangs once more before dropping back to her side. She looked at the angel beside her. “I—I will have important matters to deal with soon.” She said, composing Herself. “Would you like me to name you now or later?

They blinked in surprise. They had an option?

The Lord did say no question was out of bounds, so maybe…

“Would—would you mind terribly if I erm—picked my own name?” The angel asked meekly. They scolded themself as they waited for the second look of surprise to clear from God’s face but rushed on. “I—I’ve been calling myself Aziraphale, Lord, though I would be partial to any name you grant me...”

God’s nose scrunched up, thoughtful. It took Aziraphale a moment to recognize the look. Curiosity.

“Aziraphale? Not Aziraphael? Or Israfil?”

“Yes, Lord,” the angel—Aziraphale said. “Unless you want me to change it—?”

“No,” God smiled. “It suits you.”

“How are the Archangels dealing with the lot of you?” God asked. _Teased_, a small thought corrected. “A small army of fledglings overtake the four yet.”

Four.

_She didn’t know._

Something cold made itself present in Aziraphale’s stomach. They had only met Michael and Gabriel very briefly, just before being assigned their post at the wall. Raphael, the notorious peacekeeper, was nowhere to be found. And Samael—

“I think there might be a few too many of us for them to look after.” Aziraphale said cautiously, trying not to overstep. “They’re busy dealing with the war after all.”

A mistake

God's face went blank. No surprise to be had. Only fury.

“War?” Her voice was dangerous, and the clouds seemed to darken above them. Aziraphale shivered, wondering what they had said. Surely, She knew… “What war?” Amidst the oncoming storm, the Lord’s face was a torrent. The rain held back it seemed but barely. held back against the garden’s boundaries. Against Aziraphale’s wall.

They were babbling now, babbling something about Samael—now Lucifer—and fire and demons and armies and how they really don’t want to fight, please don’t make them—

“Aziraphale.” God said. Aziraphale shut up. “Stay here.”

“Yes, Lord.”

“Guard the gate.” God commanded. Aziraphale felt no need to disagree. “I’ve got to go have a chat with my eldest Archangels.”

“Er—” The words caught up with Aziraphale just then. “Lord, what do I guard the gate with?” God’s cool expression pierced through them. “I’m not exactly experienced with fighting barehanded—"

The Lord’s hands moved swiftly, pulling at the air with force until an an object materialized, shimmering in the gloom of the air.

“Here.” God thrust the weapon at Aziraphale. The angel took it, trembling form changing into something more solid at the sword’s weight.  
In the blink of an eye, Aziraphale was back at the wall, and the Lord was gone.

As the angel looked up at the sky, nerves settling into a steady pattern in the pit of their stomach, the sword lit up, the blade sheathed in fire. A jolt of surprise, then Aziraphale readied themself.

If war would come to Eden, they would be ready.

Back to pacing, now with a duty, Aziraphale knew they should feel content. God had acknowledged them. Given them a name, a sword, a mission, yet all they felt was unease.

It seemed they weren’t the only one.

Voices rose with the wind, hysterical, and growing higher with each passing breath.

“But where are we supposed to _go_?”

It was the humans, Aziraphale realized. They were right beside the gate and breathing quite heavily.

Hyperventilating.

_What were they doing by the gate?_

“The Lord said we have to leave,” Eve’s trembling statement answered Adam’s question. Unknowingly she answered Aziraphale’s as well. Hesitantly, she reached out a hand, and the gate swung open.

And knowing nothing but the ease of Paradise, they humans looked out into the world.  
And they were afraid.

Aziraphale looked too. They looked at what lay beyond Eden’s walls. They looked at the two tiny humans, so new and so fragile.

They would never survive like this.  
In a flash, Aziraphale appeared beside them, wings flickering just behind. The humans stared, first at Aziraphale, then at their hand and the what they held. Adam’s eyes were bright and confused.

Yet learning.

Aziraphale thrust the sword pommel in his direction, hoping Adam would take it before they lost the nerve.

“Here you go, flaming sword. On the house. Keep warm.”

Without waiting for so much as a thank you, the angel was back on top of the wall. They watched Adam and Eve leave; their footsteps in the sand quickly disappearing as their path back to Eden was obscured. The clouds above were growing ever darker, and the angel hoped they would find shelter before the downpour. The humans would survive, they knew now, but what happened after that was anyone’s guess.

And behind Aziraphale, a certain snake slithered.


End file.
